What are you doing, Dean
by quorndawg40
Summary: Witches and misunderstandings: Where did they go? ah, the doc knows.
1. What ever happened to apathy?

title: What are you doing, Dean prt 1 summary: Witches and Misunderstandings disclaim: Not mine, but mine to toy with rated: T, for language

"Tourch it now!" screamed Dean to his little brother when the witch ghost appeared in front of him. Pain exploded from where she had raked her knife-sharp nails down his forearms. He stumbled back dropping his rock salt shotgun and pulled his arms to his stomach to stem the bleeding.

Sam lit the corpse in the closet of the abandoned apartment building. Flames shot out and engulfed the body within seconds. He jumped back and turned to his brother.

"Dean!" Sam exclaimed with concern. He had started to go to him when they heard the police sirens. Both rushed to the window and saw at two police cars pulling up to the building."Shit, someone must have heard the shots and called the cops," Dean complained. "I thought everyone turned a deaf ear to those things. Just our luck to get the one place where people still pay attention." With a grimace he tossed his keys to Sam and said, "Get the car and met me at the gas station down the street in an hour."

"What about you?" Sam not wanting to leave an injured Dean. "You're hurt." He started to reach for his brother's arms to check out the extent of the wounds.

"Sam, it's just scratches. You take the car and shag ass, we can't have the cops running the plates or impounding it. I will circle around and met you at the gas station down the street." With a smirk, he added, "Besides, you run faster than I do, so get your ass to the car and go, then pick me up."

Sam frowned but understood the logic. He did a once over of Dean and decided that he could not be that bad because his eyes looked clear and determined. Though he was holding his left arm where Sam could not see, the right did not look that bad and there was minimal blood. He turned to go.

"Wait, give me your weapon, in case the cops see you," Dean rationalized. He took Sam's shotgun and picked up his as Sam raced down the stairs. He also pick up a hunting knife that his younger brother had dropped. 'just as well, can't have him getting caught with this either. But we are going to have a talk about the proper handling and stowing of weapons' he chuckled to himself as he shoved the knife into his pocket. Snapping back to reality, he started down the stairs and he noticed another siren adding to the ones already there. 

He cautioned a look out another apartment window, 'crap, now the fire department, what's with these people? don't they know how to be apathetic?' He did not notice the trail that he was leaving behind nor the fact that he had dropped one of the shotguns. His left arm had been bleeding freely since the attack and had not let up, the right was not as bad. The shock of the cuts had him numb. It was not until he was on the ground floor hiding in another one of the empty apartments that he felt the pain in his arms. 

'what the fuck' Dean swayed leaned heavily against the wall by the window. He felt the other shotgun slide from his blood slicked hand to the floor. Looking down to the weapon, he then noticed the blood. 'shit, dammit, fuck' his eyes following the blood trail out the door. 'that is a lot...' his brain barely registered, 'can't be good.' Dean then slipped to the floor. Black had crept into the edges of his vision. Shaking his head, he tried to make a plan to get out of the building without being seen. 

'you cannot get away,' hissed a voice. Dean pulled the knife from his pocket when he heard it, looking around wildly for the owner. "you're burning, bitch," he whispered, slumping fruther down the wall. He tried to stay awake to defend himself, but darkness was winning, he could not keep his head up or eyes open. His chin dropped to his chest, he hardly noticed that the door accross from him banged open. Nor did he feel the hands hurrying to stop the bleeding. Unconscienceness had taken over. 


	2. Fire Marshal Bill to the Rescue

title: What are you doing, Dean prt 2 summary: Witches and Misunderstandings disclaim: Not mine, but mine to toy with rated: T, for language

"The fire was not that bad. Probably some homeless guy trying to keep warm," said the fireman into his radio on the third floor of the abandoned apartment building. He looked to his partner who was finding something on the floor very interesting. "What are you looking at, Joe?" 

"This looks like blood, fresh blood," replied Joe as he lifted his mask and helment from his head. He bent down to get a better look. He heard Bill come up behind him.

"Yeah, is does and from the looks of it, it started over there by the window and goes out the door here to the left." Bill followed the trail down the hallway to the stairs. "Call it in and let the police know we migt have trouble. Tell them to go in the north entrance. It looks like the blood leads that way." Bill continued down the stairs, "And get an ambulance here, just in case."

Fireman Bill had been doing this for neary 20 years and knew that if there was blood it did not always mean that it was caused from an accident. It could have been an attack, but he did not want to wait too long in case the injured needed help. He made his way causiously, following the blood trail. He saw that it had lead into an apartment building but lead out again. When he was at the ground floor, he met a police officer at the door of the apartment. 

"Hey Pete, Joe fill you in?" he asked the officer, relived that is was his friend and not that green rookie that pissed him off when he first arrived at the scene, what's his name, Jonson.

"Yes. What do you think?" Pete questioned, all business, ready for anything.

"All I know is that whoever it is has lost a lot of blood and this is the end of the trail," eyeing the door with the blood on the handle and frame. Pete nodded to Bill and motioned for him to stand back as he raised his gun and kicked open the door. He did a sweep of the room before his eyes settled on the form slumped against the far wall by the window. "Bill, by the window" he yelled and nearly ran. "Wait, he has knife and there's a gun," keeping his weapon on the person on the floor, he approached. "Drop the knife," he commanded, he noted that the knife was held loosly in the right hand covered in blood and blood was pooling around the man's left hand.

"Pete, he's uncounsciencous," Bill said, pointing out, what he thought, was the obvious. Pete kicked the shotgun away, which was laying two foot away from the man, then the knife from the right hand and saw that he did not even flinch. He got on his radio and started barking orders into it for paramedics. 

Bill had gone to work stripping off the coat and shirt and getting the man into a prone postion. 'suicide is not the answer' Bill thought bitterly at he saw the cuts down the inside of the man's forarms, remembering the bloodied knife the man was holding. 'it can't be all that bad to need to end it all.'

The paramedics got there within five minutes and began working on the young man. After another five minutes they were on their way to the hospital. 


	3. Impatience in a Virtue

title: What are you doing, Dean prt 3 summary: Witches and Misunderstandings disclaim: Not mine, but mine to toy with rated: T, for language

'Dean, where are you?' Sam's searched the parking lot again. He had been sitting at the gas station waiting for Dean for two hours. 'Dammit, what is taking you so long?' worry had begun to creep into his thoughts. The first time he tried to call, Sam heard Dean's cell phone ring in the glove conpartment. He opened it seeing it sit on top of his wallet. 'great, you beat me over the head to keep mine on me at all times and you leave yours in the car.' 

He had been in the gas station three times, making the attendant nervous. The last time he asked if they had seen anybody matching his brother's description, negative. With one last look, he started the Impala and drove back to the abandoned apartment building. 

He made a slow circuit around the building to make sure that all the authorities have left. He parked in the back like before, grabbed the 9mm and when inside. Sam checked out the apartment with the witch's bones and noted that the fire had been put out by the firemen but the bones seemed to be dust, that was good. He looked around the room and his eyes lit on the blood on the floor where his brother had been standing. 'you idiot, you can't trust Dean! Shit' Sam thought as he followed the blood trail to the apartment building on the first floor. He had picked up the shotgun Dean had dropped along the way, absentmindly wiping off the blood. 'dammit Dean, you are so getting it when I find you,' he tried to hang on to his anger as fear quickly decended on his heart. 

Looking for signs of where Dean had gone next, he saw that the trail ended at the window. The dust and dedris indicated that there was a lot of activity (and blood), then little wheel marks of a gurney. 'hospital, crap,' Sam took off at a run to the car, his mind whirling with the locations of the nearest hospitals in town. 


	4. How effective is rock salt?

title: What are you doing, Dean prt 4 summary: Witches and Misunderstandings disclaim: Not mine, but mine to toy with rated: T, for language

'witch...pain...fire, burn bitch...cops...Sam...my car...blood' thoughts slammed into Dean's head from all directions. Swirling streams, flashes of light, and annoying beeping nosies assalted his senses. 'fuck' was the last thought he had when he tried to open his eyes, he kept them closed. He sensed that he was in a hospital, he had been in more than his fair share to know the feel and smell of a hospital. He recognized the beeps and buzzes, the smell, and the feel of the beds. 'why did they all feel the same?' amused he tried not to think of why he was here. 'what happened...' he could not remember anything after telling Sam to go. His thoughts were fuzzy, something about apathy.

'got to find Sam' was an overwhelming urge to move, Dean realize that he could not sit up. He opened his eyes then, saw that he had bandages from elbow to fingers on both arms, and that he was strapped down to the bed. "What the fuck?" he whispered, looking around to find something go get himself out of the bonds.

"Ah, I see you are awake, good," a doctor with concerned, but tired eyes came into Dean's room and started checking his vitals. "You gave us quite a scare when they brought you in." The doctor looked at one thing then another, writing stuff down in a chart.

"What? Why am I tied down? Let me out of here," demanded Dean, looking at the doctor, straining against the staps.

"Calm down, you have to rest to recover after what you tried to do and what we had to do," the doctor said as he checked that the reatraints were still secure but not binding. 

"'Calm down'?" Dean bit out, "how am I going to 'calm down' when you have me here tied to the damn bed!" he was nearly shouting, rage taking over. "What do you mean 'what I tried to do?" He started to thrash about, trying to loosen the bonds. Remaining calm, the doctor pressed the call button then went to the door to talk to a nurse. "Don't leave me here, you bastard, let me go! Wait, keep that shit away from me, I don't need your drugs!"

Coming back with a syringe, the doctor inserted it into the IV leading to Dean's right arm. "This will help you sleep. I know you are hurting, you need to rest." Trying to placate the enraged man, "You were found in the abandoned apartment building downtown, apparently tring to commit suicide. I don't know what is going on with you, but killing youself is not the answer."

Dean stopped at this, listening to the words coming out of the doctor's mouth, his eyes wide. 'suicide? what the fuck! I was not commiting suicide...that witch bitch scratced me' he looked down at his arms again. 'shit, that's what this stupid bastard believes.'

"I wasn't commiting suicide," he stated dryly. He was starting to feel the affects of the drug, his eyelids sliding closed. From a distance he heard that hissing voice, 'you cannot get away.' Opening his eyes wide, he wildly looked around the room. 'shit it's her' remembering that he was still trussed up, he had no way to defend himself.

"The police have your knife and shotgun. I do have to ask, how affective is rock salt as buck shot?" chuckling, the doctor walked to the door to leave. "We have a fine staff here to help you through this, hopefully you will take advantage of it. By the way, what is your name, we did not find any identification on you."

"Help me, Sam..." he whispered as he drifted off to the drug-indused sleep, trying to fight the injection. 'help me Sam,' his mind pleaded, 'she's not gone.'

The doctor wrote down "Sam" as the patient's name, made sure that the patient was asleep, then contiued to make his rounds.


	5. Little Boy Lost

title: What are you doing, Dean pt 5 summary: Witches and Misunderstandings disclaim: Not mine, but mine to toy with rated: T, for language

Sam entered the second hospital and went straight to the nurses' station in the emergency room. "I was wondering if you can help me?" putting on his best little-boy-lost expression. "I am looking for my brother," pleading with his eyes. It had been almost six hours since he last saw Dean. 'why can't I have a vision of where he is? at least I have not seen him die,' he clung to that hope as he waited for the nurse to respond.

The nurse on duty looked up from her computer screen and saw exactly what Sam wanted her to see, a lost young man desperately needing help. "What is his name and when would he have been brought in?" her eyes softening at the glassy eyed look that he was giving her.

Sam wrinkled his brow, "His name is Dean and I think he might have been brought in about five or six hours ago." 

"I have no one by that name... but four John Does were brought in in the last six hours. What does your brother look like?"

"He is 26, six foot, dark brown hair, and green eyes," Sam spewed out the disciption he knew by heart, hoping that is was the right hospital and that his older brother was alright. "He might have been brought in for cuts on his arms." He was furiously remembering the 'scratches' Dean had received from the witch ghost. Guiltly he thought 'dammit Dean, why did you have to stay behind? I should have never left you. If you are dead, so help me...'

'Ah, yes, John Doe number 42, lacerations to the arms, apparent suicide attempt. He is now in room 611. His doctor is Benedict, he's a good one," the nurse told Sam and pointing to the lift needed to get to his brother's room. "I will page him, the doctor will want to talk to you before you see your brother. Just goto the nurse's station on the sixth floor."

"Thank you," was his hasty reply. Sam did not know what to think as he rushed to the lift. 'Suicide? what did she say... apparent suicide attempt? Dean would not do that, not over a stupid witch-ghost...wait, the cuts that bitch gave him, that could easily be mistaken for ...shit' he did not want to think about it, he concentrated on getting to Dean.


	6. You have to have a plan

title: What are you doing, Dean pt 6

summary: You have to have a Plan

disclaim: Not mine, but mine to toy with

rated: T, for language

-----------------------------------------------------------------------

Dean lay in the bed staring at the ceiling, not that he could stare at anything else being still strapped to the bed. 'How can I convice them to let me go? Shit, I feel like crap,' his mind was fuzzy and his arms ached. He gazed blearily around the room noticing it was getting dark. 'Damn it, Sam where are you?'

As if on que, Sam walked in. "Sslaamm," Dean slurred, still grogy from the sedative the doctor gave him earlier.

Sam was shocked at the bandages up to his brother's elbows and the restaints holding him down. "Dean, what the hell? Damn it, we are never separating again and next time you will let me check your injuries." Sam was angry and scared that he might have lost Dean. "What did you tell them?"

"Dude, nothing and I didn't think it was that bad until I passed out," Dean tried a smirk but it was not happening. "Hey, unstrap me so we can leave."

Sam sighed and started to undo the bindings when the a doctor walked in. "What do you are doing with my patient young man?" he placed himself between Sam and Dean. "You haven't the authority to release him. This man is under my care and will remain there until he has proven he is not a threat to himself or others."

'Shit, how am I supposed to get you out Dean?' Sam could not fathom what the procedure was for an apperent suicide. So he turned on the charm, "Doctor, I am Sam Jones, Dean is my brother." He smiled.

The doctor was a bit taken aback at the young man's hieght, frowning he opened the file he had in his hands. "I am Doctor Hayz. He said his name was Sam..." he turned and picked up the chart at the end of Dean's bed.

Dean piped up at that, "No I did not, you never asked me my name, you were too busy pumping me full of drugs. Now could you unstap me to that I can leave with my brother. I promise to be good." Sarcasm was not lost on anyone.

The doctor looked at Dean with his tired, sad eyes, "You will not be unrestrained until the suicide watch is over and that you have proven that you will not harm yourself or others."

Dean rolled his eyes at him then looked to his brother. 'this guy is a broken record' Sam got the same impression. Sam sat in the chair by the bed to try to let the doctor know that he was willing to listen and to lessen the imposing effect his hieght had on people.

Seeing that both men looked as though they were cooperating, Dr. Hayz explained the treatment and therapy that would be needed in the days to come.

"I don't need any damned therapy, I am not a suicide," Dean growled when the doctor left.

"I know that Dean but we have to play this smart so we can figure out how to convince them otherwise," Sam sighed, shifting in his seat, he noted on the way up the stairways and emergency exits. "You are under a suicide watch remember," he pointed to the mirror opposite the bed, "more than likely you are being listened to as well."

"What the hell is that going to prove?" Dean expressed his displeasure, "that I can't attempt anything strapped to this fucking bed? I can tell them that right now. Shit."

"Dean," Sam looked pointedly at his brother.

"Alright, I'll be good," the older Winchester gave in only to get of the hospital faster. "Hey, Sam, did you go back and check to make sure, you know, was done?" He wanted to ask his younger brother about the job without telling the ears listening in what the job was. He was also concerned about what he thought he heard, but with all the drugs floating around in his system he could not be sure of that bit.

Knowing what his brother was refering to, Sam replied, "Yeah, when I was looking for you I checked. All seemed complete, finished," he stood getting a glance at the door, Dr. Hayz was watching them. "I've got to go," at Dean's confused look, "visiting hours are over. See you first thing. Hey, take advantage of the bed. It looks more comfortable than the motel's." They both laughed at that then Sam left.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------


	7. Hello are you listening?

title: What are you doing, Dean pt 7 summary: Hello, are you listening?  
disclaim: Not mine, but mine to toy with rated: T, for language -  
note -- I have no idea if the medical procedures I mention in this story are valid, but they sound good. So I am going with that. Maybe one day I will do some research on it...as long as it does not distract from Sam and Dean.  
------------------------------------------------------------

"You will cooperate with the doctor or you will be sedated."

Dean glared at the nurse, he was not happy, not at all. He was sick and tired of being poked, proded, and stuck with needles that knocked him out. And the stupid suicide watch they had him under was ridiculous.

"Dr. Paulyrd will be in at 8:30 to assess you. If all goes well you might be unrestrained. Understand?" the nurse explained like he was a simple.

"Yes, Nurse Bill, I understand," Dean could not keep the sarcasm out of his voice. He closed his eyes and waited for the next doctor to probe him.

"Good Morning, Dean Jones is it? How are we this morning?" Dr. Paulyrd was too perky for Dean's taste. He looked to Dean as if he just walked out of Men's Health magazine, the doctor looked too polished.

"I'm fine, you're spastic," he tried to keep the bite out of his tone, it crept in.

The doctor laughed, "My my, sharp aren't we? Well, I guess I am a bit high on life." He smiled widely as he opened the curtains.

'oh please, kill me know' Dean moaned, turning away from the bright sunshine.

"Down to business," Paulyrd settled himself in a chair next to Dean's bed. Opening his folder, the doctor wrote something. He then reiterated the situation and location in which Dean was found, the injuries, and the treatment thus far. Dean nodded at the appropriate times, frowning and protesting the suicide. "I did not try to kill myself," he stated with finality.

"If that is the case then why was your blood found on the knife? Someone do this to you?" Paulyrd had earnest eyes, "Set you up?"

"It was an accident, nothing like that," Dean could not explain it. 'shit, this is not working'

"And the shot gun with the rock salt? What was that for? Salt is not leathal," the doctor plowed on giving Dean only a cursory glance and he wrote in the file again.

"Do you read your medical journals? Too much sodium man... high blood preasure," Dean attempted levity.

The doctor have him only momentary consideration, "I think a full psych evaluation is needed. We should get to the root of your problems so that we can heal you." Again he scribbled in that folder.

"Doc, what do you mean? I'm fine, this is all a misunderstanding," Dean tried to get the doctor to listen to him. 'he's already made up his mind. he is not listening'

"I am ordering you some anti-depressants and anti-psychotics to be administered four times daily. They should help you rest and get you in the right state of mind to come to terms with your psychosis."

"What? No fucking way! You are not listening to me! I am not psychotic! I am not suicidal!" Dean was yelling and thrashing in the bed. 'this doctor is crazy, i've got to get out of here!'

Pressing the call button, Dr. Paulyrd ordered a sedative.

--------------------------------------------------------------- 


	8. Doctors Know Everything

title: What are you doing, Dean pt 8

summary: Doctors know everything

disclaim: Not mine, but mine to toy with

rated: T, for language

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Visiting hours started at 10:00 am, so at 9:59 amSam was waiting at the desk to sign in. Once in he went straight to Dean's room. He was surprised to find that his older brother was still sleeping but knew he needed the rest. He wondered over to the chart to take a look. He was shocked to see that there were sedatives, anti-depressants, and anti-psychoics perscribed. "Dean, Dean? Can you hear me?" Sam shook his shoulder to rouse him. Dean moaned but did not wake up. Leaving, Sam went in search of this Dr. Paulyrd who ordered the drugs.

He found hism in his office on the tenth floor with a patient. Waiting made Sam fidgety, he was furious but wondered how much of it was Dean's fault. 'he can be a handful at times but he would not risk leaving' When he finally got up to talk to the doctor he had calmed at bit.

"Hello, Dr. Paulyrd, I'm Sam Jones, Dean's brother," they shook hands. Taking the offered chair, he continued, "I was wondering about my brother, you had a consult with him this morning? I noticed on his chart the drugs you perscribed. A bit much don't you think?"

"Ah, yes, my 8:30," the doctor retrieved Dean's file. "Most of what was said is confidential, but seeing how you are his family I can tell you this much. Your brother is a very disturbed individual. He is argumentative, repressed, and in deep denial. He is suffering delusions and paranoid episodes which led to his suicide attempt. I have him scheduled for a full evaluation this afternoon."

Sam sat there in disbelief, 'no way in hell this doctor talked to dean.' "Doctor, this is a mistake..."

The doctor cut him off, "Your brother needs intensive therapy and counselling along with drug treatment. You will have to come to terms with this, Mr. Jones, if you want to help your brother. Your denial of his illness has obviously fueled his decline." Paulyrd looked at Sam with sympathetic eyes.

'you have got to be shitting me, this man is not listening' Sam tried again, "Dr. Paulyrd, I am willing to do whatever it takes to get Dean out of here, but," he was struggling to keep his temper under control, "ther is no way he is as you say."

"Now no need to get upset though I know how hard it has to be to finallyrealize what is right in front of you face. More than likely this has been going on for years, your brother suffering and no one helping him, ignoring his pain," the doctor stood. "We just have to be strong and work through this one day at a time." He smiled, dismissing Sam.

'insane, the doctor is the insane one' Sam left to see Dean. They had to get a plan.

--------------------------------------------------------------


	9. Some days it doesn't pay to be you

title: What are you doing, Dean pt 9

summary: Some days it just doesn't pay to be you

disclaim: Not mine, but mine to toy with

rated: T, for language

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

'why is everything so fuzzy?' Dean could not think straight. 'blurry, it is all blurry.' He shook his head to clear his vision but that was a mistake. That action had made his head spin and nauseated him. "Stop" he muttered to no one. He was sitting strapped to a wheelchair on the 14th floor of the hospital in the dayroom of the psych ward. Dean was supposed to have a visitor today, he hoped it was his brother. 'what am i doing here?' His last clear memory was talking with Sam about breaking out of the hospital.

000

Dean has just woke up when a very agitated Sam stormed through the door. "Dean, we have got to get you out of here. That doctor is insane."

"Good morning to you, too. So you've meet Dr. Paulson," he smiled at his younger brother.

"Paulyrd, yeah. He did not listen. He already had his mind made up," frustration clear in Sam's voice, "He even accused me of contributing to your delusions and suicide attempt," he sat in the chair next to Dean's bed.

"Well, you do have a way about you," attempting to inject some humor into the situtation, Dean smirked. Seeing Sam's face he relented, "I know what you mean. He did the same thing to me. Just spring me already."

"Dean," Sam indicated the suicide watch mirror, "I'll see what I can do," hopefully Dean read his meaning in his look. Sam stood when the door opened and a nurse walked in.

"Oh, you are awake," she smiled at Dean, "Time for your meds."

"Do I have to? I am feeling so much better now," Dean turned on the charm.

"Dr. Paulyrd said four times a day, so let's get this started," the nurse seemed immuned to Dean.

"Nurse, please," Sam asked, "can we speak to the doctor again before Dean starts this?" he was earnest, almost pleading. Sam had his type of charm as well.

"I am sorry but I have orders," again the nurse seemed immuned.

"I don't need that crap, please just..." Dean protested but trailed off as the drugs hit his system.

000

'thirsty' Dean lazily looked around the dayroom. He saw about a dozen other patients milling about. 'i need some water' He cleared this throat to speak but could not get his voice to work. 'who are these people?' idly he mused, 'where is sam?' He wanted to move, the straps hindered his movements. 'i think i am going to piss myself' Dean sadly chuckled to himself. His thoughts wondered back to the evaluation.

000

Things were not going well.

"You are not listening to me doc! I said I am fine," Dean was barely maintaining his calm.

"Now now, no need to get angry. We are just getting to the root of your problems. And from you answers so far you seem to have a lot of repressed feelings." Dr. Paulyrd read over his notes.

Dean felt like crap, the drugs made him nauseous and his mind was fuzzy. They had also given him a headache to which he was not alowed anything because of reations to what he had already been given. They had been at this for an hour now and the doctor had not once acted as though anything Dean said made a difference.

"Tell me about your family. I have met your brother, do you have any other siblings? How do you get along with your parents?" Paulyrd's perky attitude was grating on Dean's nerves.

"Sam is my only sibling. I get along fine with my dad. Nothing to tell," he said through clenched teeth. 'don't go there'

"Well your tone says differently. Your mother, how do you catagorize your relationship with her?" writing in the folder took up much of the doctor's time.

'damn it' "My mother is dead, she died when I was four," quietly Dean responded. 'drop it'

"Ah, childhood trauma. Do you blame your mother for leaving you?" the doctor was writing again.

"No! Doctor, I do not want to talk about my mother with you. This is a joke. Let me up and I will get out of your hair," Dean shut his eyes at the sharp pain that shot through his head.

"It is not uncommon to hate someone who abandoned you at an early age," writing, always writing.

"She was murdered," Dean glared at the doctor. He hated that man, especially now that he made Dean slip up and mention that. "Listen to me! I don't hate my mother! Let me the fuck up so that I can leave this shit hole!" he was yelling and jerking at the restraints. 'if i had my .45 you would so be wasted asshole'

"Well then I think we are finished here," Dr. Paulyrd called for the nurse. Taking a syringe from her he injected it into Dean's IV.

"NO NO! Stop that! Stop giving me that shit! I don't need..." Dean succumbed another drug induced sleep.

000

'damn it, what day is it? dad's going to be furious' Dean turned his head, the only part of him that was not strapped down, to look out the window. 'it is day, isn't it? yeah, it is' he started to drift, his head dropping to his chest.

'I found you'

Dean's eyes snapped open, his head up. He looked around, 'who said that?' he needed to remember.

'you can't get away from me'

His heart was hammering in his chest, he breath shallow and fast, he was panicking and he did not know why. 'i have to talk to sam, why is he not here?'

Nurse Bennet greeted her patient, "Hello Dean, how are you today? Your visitor is here."

Blinking at her, "Sam?" he rasped, his throat was so dry.

---------------------------------------------------------------------


	10. Because I say so that's why

title: What are you doing, Dean pt 10

summary: Because I say so that's why

disclaim: Not mine, but mine to toy with

rated: T, for language

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Sam was not allowed to see Dean after his evaluation. Arriving at the hospital the next day he was aggravated to find that Dean had been moved to the 14th floor, the psych ward, under the care of Dr. Paulyrd. He grew angrier when he discovered that the visiting hours, which were fewer for psych patients, were even more reduced for his brother. 'what the hell?' When he complained he was told it was the doctor's orders and could not be altered. Dean as allowed only one 30 minute visit a day.

Fuming Sam sat in the designated waiting room going over what he had learned from the day before. Since he was not able to see his brother for the rest of the day, he went in search of information. Being an avid researcher Sam left no stone unturned. He went through all the medical journals and texts to see what he could find on the treatments of what the doctor had claimed his brother had. This reminded him too much of what he had done months before when he was researching ways to save Dean from his heart condition. 'no faith healers this time' Sam also started a background check on the hospital and Dr. Paulyrd. What he found so far was not encouraging. The hospital was known for its pro bono work and was one of the top state funded research hospitals in the area. And Paulyrd was an up and coming researcher on the verge of a breakthrough with a drug and therapy treatment trial going on now.

Sam was pacing the small room. He frowned at the huge mirror which he knew was for the doctors to observe the patients, just in case, but he felt it was it was an invasion of privacy. 'This is more like an interrogation room than anything else.' He turned when the door opened and was disappointed to see Dr. Paulyrd. He noted that the good doctor did not seem as perky as he did the day before.

"Good morning Mr. Jones, " the doctor was polite and formal, "I see you are here to visit with your brother. I have to warn you that his mental state had deteriorated since yesterday. He had become quite hostile during the evaluation. I think that it is due to his deep denial of his problems. He just wants to ignore the fact that his illness is hurting him and could hurt others. I have set about a strict structure of therapy that will be both one on one and group situations. Also he has an intensive schedule that I am sure will be conducive to help him find a firm footing on his road to recovery. I think it will be in his best interests if outside influences are kept ot a minimum." He looked pointedly at Sam.

Sam knew exactly waht the doctor was implying. 'no way in hell I am just leaving Dean here with you.' He tried to keep his face neutral through Paulyrd's speech giving the impression that all he wanted for his brother was the best. So with concern he was genuinly feeling Sam asked, "But doctor, with all that you say is wrong with my brother, I think that there needs to be a second evaluation. Dean has never displayed the symptoms you say he is displaying now. I would like to check him out of here so that we can get a second opinion, to corroborate your diagnosis."

"Mr. Jones, I am sorry but that cannot happen. My patient has already begun the drug treatment that cannot be stopped at the whim of a well meaning but sadly misguided family member." The doctor's eyes were condesending, his attitude arrogant, almost malevolent.

"Dr. Paulyrd," Sam had to fight to keep his temper in check, "I am not misguided, I understand the seriousness of Dean's --"

The doctor cut him off, "Good, so I am sure you are aware of the ramifications of stopping a structured set of treatments in mid-stream."

"Mid-stream?" Sam almost shouted, "this 'set of treatments' as you call it has only just begun, so I do not see the harm in stopping and getting my brother a second opinion."

Paulyrd smiled and patronized, "I assume you are not in the medical field? I thought so, I am and have the degrees that give me the authority to do what I think is in the best interest of my patients. This is a research hospital that is doing ground breaking work in the areas of mental health, with therapy and drug treatments. You have not the knowledge or the authority to do anything." The doctor's face had turned hard and his body language was smug.

Sam was taken aback by the change in demenor. "You cannot hold Dean against his will. The evaluation period is almost over so you have to release him."

"You have no idea what you brother needs. He was suffering right in front of you and you did nothing to help him. You are in as much denial as he is about his illness." Paulyrd stood raising his hand to stop Sam's protests. "Also, he has no will here, he has been declared mentally incompetent and has been remanded into my care until I see that he had been cured." There was almost an evil glint to the doctor's eyes. He blinked and it was gone.

"You can't do that, that takes time...," Sam was now standing, flabbergasted. He might not be a lawyer but with his pre-law knowledge he knew these things don't happen overnight. Plus he was getting a bad feeling from the doctor he did not get the day before.

"He stays. You have no say here, no authority." Paulyrd handed Sam a copy of Dean's case file. "It's all here. You have 10 minutes," the smug man left. Sam stared after him, his mouth agape.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------


	11. A mind is a terrible thing

title: What are you doing, Dean pt 11

summary: A mind is a terrible thing

disclaim: Not mine, but mine to toy with

rated: T, for language

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Nurse Bennet wheeled Dean to the visitor's rooms and left him outside room #3. He heard shouting but could not make out the words. He tried to get the nurse's attention thenhe wondered if she left. 'why am i sitting here?' Straining his neck around he saw that the nurse had left. All alone he stared a the walls.

After what seemed like an eternity the door to room #3 opened and Dr. Paulyrd walked behind Dean. He pushed him into the room where Sam was standing. "Sammy," Dean choked out, he was so thirsty but glad to see his brother was there.

"Dean, man it is good to see you. How are you feeling?" Sam came around the table to crouch down in front of his older brother. The doctor had left but Sam knew he was watching and listening.

"Thirsty," Dean felt clammy and hot. His eyes were glazed and unfocused.

"Here drink this," Sam held a cup of water to Dean's lips and carefully helped him drink. When he was finished he asked, "Sam, what is going on? Where's Dad?"

"Dean you have been declared incompetent and in the care of Dr. Paulyrd until you are better." Sam spit out the last part bitterly, he needed a plan. He was going to have to go over his legal notes to see if what the good doctor had given him was legit.

"Oh," was all that Dean said. He looked around the room then back to Sam, "Dad's going to be furious we did not get to Livingston in time." He let his head loll back, he was so tired. Nothing seemed solid. 'floaty, it's all puffy'

"Dean, look at me," Sam took his brother's face in his hands, "stay focused here. I am trying to get you out of here as fast as I can. But you have got to help me here. Cooperate with the staff, try to get off the drugs, play nice with the other patients. Dean listen to me." Sam gently shook his brother when he stared to drift. "I'll be back tomorrow, same time."

Dean frowned, "Don't leave me Sammy. It's lonely and boring in here." He would have dropped his head if Sam had not been holding it up. "I've got to tell you something, something I have to remember..." he stared off into space. 'what was it, it was important'

"What is it Dean?" Sam hated seeing his strong older brother reduced to this.

Dean's eyes snapped back to Sam's, "It had something to do with our last job..." his voice trailed off. "Can I have some water?" he blinked to clear his vision, try to focus his thoughts.

Sam got up to get him some water. Again he asked, "What do you have to tell me Dean?" as he helped him drink.

"I can't remember, Sam," Dean let his head drop, what he saw shamed him. "I pissed myself Sam...what's happening to me?" To his horror he started to cry, "Don't leave me, it's not safe here." He was not in control. 'i'm loosing it'

Sam was shocked to see this, Dean never cried. At that moment Paulyrd opened the door officially ending the visit. He started to wheel Dean away when Sam grabbed his brother's arms strapped to the chair. "I'll be back tomorrow, same time. Remember that Dean. I will be back." With a parting glare to the doctor, he released his brother.

Dean had stopped crying and frowned at Sam, "I'll try, Sammy." He then let his chin drop to his chest and he stared at his wet lap the whole trip to his room. After the doctor injected him with his second dose for the day, Dean was put to bed. 'i ache' was the last thought he had as the orderlies stripped him then strapped him down to the bed covering him with a sheet. He slept for the next four hours haunted by dreams of darkness, knives, and blood. 'you are mine, you can't get away'

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------


	12. What does the Doctor think?

title: What are you doing, Dean pt 12

summary: What the doctor thinks

disclaim: Not mine, but mine to toy with

rated: T, for language

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Having an hour before his next patient, Dr. Paulyrd sat in his office going over the subjects in his trail program. All were criminals of some sort not very dangerous just a little distrubed, except for one, the suicide. Dr. Paulyrd did not know why he had picked him, it just felt like a compulsion, a voice in the back of his mind telling him that the man needed to be in the program. All the others were choosen because of the similarities of their illnesses and how they were not dealing or funcitoning in society. He had hoped that his new drug and therapy treatment would do well enough on these patients that he could then move on to more dangerous subjects. His grant was for up to six patients and one year with the stipulation that with noted improvements it would be extened to five years and up to 20 patients. He now had his six all within a month of starting his program.

He was pleased with the results so far. Most were responding well, though time would tell how they would progress in the program. His mind wondered back to the last patient. 'Dean Jones, attempted suicide' He had been filling in for Dr. Willard on the psych consult that Dr. Hayz ordered. He read over the case file and his notes from the session. He remembered within minutes of entering the room that he felt different. He could not explain it, just all that he had written had seemed true but yet wrong. 'psychosis, depression, paranoia, denial' He also seemed to get a dark feeling whenever he dealt with him or his brother. He wanted to get that brother of his in here too but there was no way to do that. He was confused at those thoughts, maybe he just wanted to get the man help and thought that the brother could help if he were in the program, too, so that he could stop being in denial of his brother's illness. 'Yes, that had to be it.'

Overcome with a strong need he did not know was there he picked up his pen and started to write. 'Very hostile and dangerous. Keep under constant surveillance. Delusional with visiual and auditory halucinations. Use of force and restraints authorized' Every reference to 'Dean Jones' he replaced with 'Ben, John Doe #42'. He updated the files in his computer as well as in the system regarding this patient. "This is true, this is true," he muttered to himself. He heard it in his head was well, a dark voice, the same one that came to him whenever he spoke with the suicide.

'_You are useful_' He frowned at that thought, 'where did that come from?' He shook his head then picked up his case folders. 'Ah yes, my patients in my trial, I have just enough time to review...' He started to read his patients folders as if he had just started.

"Doctor, your 10:00 is here." Paulyrd jumped at the voice on the intercom. 'What? I have an hour...' he looked down at his watch. 'I'll be damned, where did the time go?'

"Thank you Nurse Nichols, send her right in," the doctor replied as he shook off the feeling of disorientation.

-----------------------------------------------------------------


	13. Run Sam Run

title: What are you doing, Dean pt 13

summary: Run Sam Run

disclaim: Not mine, but mine to toy with

rated: T, for language

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

What Sam found out about what Paulyrd had given him appalled him. Dean had been fast tracked through the system to get him into Dr. Paulyrd's program and all was legal and binding. 'Shit, what am I going to do?' Everywhere he turned roadblocks were thrown up. He had not one legal way to get his brother out of that hospital unless the doctor agreed to sign him cured. It had taken him two days of research to confirm that. 'Well, I guess I am going to have to do this the old fashioned way'  
Sam went to the library to look up the floor plans for the hospital. What he found was that there was an addition to the building that were not in the plans he had. The plans he had only went up to the 10th floor. After searching all the libraries in town and the courthouse he found the amended floorplans. That had taken an additional three days. Armed with those and each visit to the hospital itself, Sam was slowly but surely getting a plan together.

His visits to Dean were not good, he was getting more and more incoherent. Sam tried to keep the information to his big brother as upbeat as he could without giving away his plan. He just needed Dean to get off the drugs enough to think straight, though given the program he was in that was not going to be easy. Sam was happy to see that Dean no longer had to be restrained, at least he was free to move around. He gave, in vague references, the ideas that he had but also that he needed a bit more time to finish his research. Dean seemed to understand that much.

"Sam, they're bunch of dicks in here. Get me out," pleaded Dean with tears in his eyes he could not blink away. Dean was horrified he could not keep anything in, his carefully constructed walls that he had built up over the years were crumbling.

"Dean, I am trying, I just have to finish my research, you know how it is. Are you playing nice with the other patients?" Sam was still upset to see that Dean was displaying raw emotions. It was as if he had no control over anything.

Dean sat in the chair and stared at his hands in his lap, idly tracing the long scabs on his left arm attempting to focus his thoughts. "Yeah, I'm being good, " he responded quietly, "I know you got to get all the facts." He looked up at his brother who had come to stand next to him. "Damn it, I can't get them to stop giving me drugs. All the time, see right there just before you came. I look like a fucking addict," Dean was pointing to the tracks along his right arm near the bright pink scars. "They make me sick and I have a headache. It's hard to think, ya know?" Tears fell down his face as he blinked looking into Sam's eyes. 'i don't act like this, i am not helpless, am i?'

Sam squatted down so that he was eye level with his older brother. "I know Dean. But you are part of a drug and therapy trial of Dr. Paulyrd's, so they are going to be giving you those drugs until you are better. Maybe if you are good you don't have to have as much." He smiled what he hoped was encouraging, knowing it was not enough. Placing his hand on Dean's arm he said, "Hey, tomorrow you can tell me all about this place, where you get to go, what you do. You know, if it is like the other hospitals we have been in?"

Dean blinked at Sam again a bit pissed, "I'm not an idiot, stop talking to me like I am fucking four," he jerked his arm out of Sam's grasp. His moods swung erratically from placid to angry so quickly that it made his head spin. It was like he immediately reacted without thought, manic, to everything around him. 'I have got to get in control, Sam is trying to help' Concentrating on the expression on his younger brother's face, he focused on what Sam was attempting to convey, "Yeah, I can do that. All I have seen so far is my room, the dayroom, and here. Now that I am unstrapped I get to move around more."

'yes, Dean, focus, you know what I am asking' Sam was looking in Dean's eyes willing him to understand what he was asking him to do. Dean stared then gave the slightest nod, then his eyes glazed over, his thoughts dull again. "Okay, I will see you tomorrow, Dean." Sam stood when the orderly came in to take his brother away. Sam was going to have to act fast, Dean could not hold up against the drugs for very long.

That had been his last visit in a five days because the next day when Sam arrived Dr. Paulyrd told him that his patient had 'acted out' and lost his visitor privileges for a week.

"What do you mean 'acted out'? What could he have possibly done?" Sam was not pleased, barely holding on to his temper. He was going to have to reign it in though so he could play this out.

"Since you are his brother and you need to realize the depths of his problems, I will tell you. Your brother tried to commit suicide again. He hid in a supply closet, found some glass and slashed himself up pretty bad." There was that gleam in his eyes as Dr. Paulyrd told Sam about Dean. "Fortunately for him it was time for his meds so the nurses were looking for him. No telling what he would had done had he not been found. Your brother is desperate and needs to continue uninterrupted with his treatment. So I am recommending that your visits be cut back to once a week starting next Thursday at 2:00 for thirty minutes."

"You have got to be kidding me. Doctor--" Sam was outraged, no way Dean would have done that.

Paulyrd cut him off, "Now that's settled, I will let you brother know you will be here next Thursday." The doctor got up, 'he is no longer important, he no longer exists' and left Sam staring after him.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------


	14. See Dean, See Dean Run

title: What are you doing, Dean pt 14

summary: See Dean, See Dean Run

disclaim: Not mine, but mine to toy with

rated: T, for language

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Get the fuck off me!" Dean yelled flailing about trying to get the orderlies to back up. 'get off the drugs' He clung to the words from his brother, what he could remember of them, and he had enough of the drugs that moron doctor was giving him. Dean had a perpetual headache that he could not get anything for because of the drug trial he was participating in. 'Sam said i was in Paulyrd's trial, i don't remember signing up for it'

Dean had an IV port in his right arm but since his arms had mostly healed he pulled it out; therefore, the nurse was having to find a vein to inject his meds into. 'i look like a junky' It was time for his first injection of the day and Dean was having none of it. They unusually got him before he woke in the mornings but today they were running late. "Damn it, keep that shit away from me!" his head was clear enough to try to avoid taking anymore.

"Ben, you are going to have to calm down and take your medicine," Nurse May was nice enough but stern when it came to dealing with Paulyrd's patients. "Ben, you know you have to take this to get better." After the patient's initial hesitation she called in reenforcements. The three orderlies had him cornered in his room.

"Stop calling me Ben!" Dean shouted, they had been doing that since they moved him up here and it was pissing him off. 'it's confusing'

Though Dean was not completely stable on his feet he still had his skills. So before any of the orderlies could make a move, he attacked taking down one of them before they realized what he was doing. Within two minutes the other two were down and he was out the door. Quickly he was at the stairwell doors trying to get them open. He noticed that a badge was needed to activate the doors and he bet the lifts were the same. "Fuck!" Out of the corner of his eye he saw people coming for him. Dean took off trying doors along the way. He found a supply closet that was open and ducked in. As he crouched down behind the selves of cleaning supplies he heard footsteps race by.

'if i can just stay hidden for a while longer...' Dean was still trying to get the drugs that were in his system out of his system. He crossed his arms on his knees that were drawn up to his chest and laid his head down on them. 'i just need to rest a bit... dizzy, head hurts, this damn headache won't go away'

Dean did not know how long he had been hiding when he woke. 'shit, i'm still here, hurry up sam, get me out of here' He stood up in the dark closet to stretch when he heard a voice coming from behind him.

'I found you'

"What?" shocked he spun around to see who was with him. The door had not opened and there was no other entrances.

'You can't get away'

Dean spun again, banging his right arm against the shelving. "Ow" he hissed, feeling hands on his arms, touching his face, carressing his torso; he brushed frantically at himself to get the feeling to go away.

'You are mine'

Pain erupted along his right jawline. He screamed out in agony when pain blossomed down his left arm to his wrist. Dean clutched his arm to his chest panting to catch his breath falling back against the wall. "DAMN!" He screamed out again when he felt something very sharp rip into his abdomen. A cruel laugh echoed in the small room disorienting Dean. Feeling lightheaded he was unable to stop himself from crashing into the selves toppling cleaning supplies around him. Balance gone, Dean fell to his hands and knees cutting them on broken glass. He sat back on his heels and wrapped his arms around him to try to hold back the pain. "What the fuck is happening?" he whispered into the empty air, silence returning to the space.

The overhead light flashed on, squinting Dean raised his right hand against the glare. He was shocked at what he saw. "Blood?" he gasped as he looked down at himself.

"In here, I've found him. Shit, he's done it again. Bring the first aid kit and page Dr. Paulyrd."

Dean heard the voices coming from far away. He felt hands on him lying him down, putting preasure on his wounds, an injection in his arm.

"He got some glass and cut himself up. Damn it, he reopened his left arm. Let's get him out of here, he might need surgery. Ready, one, two, three lift."

The voices were getting more distant, the light that was once so bright was dimming. 'it was her... not me... that witch...' Dean could not get his voice to work. As he drifted off to unconsciousness he heard the words again.

'You can't get away'

------------------------------------------------------------------------


	15. Bye Sam, Hello Ben

title: What are you doing, Dean pt 15

summary: Bye Sam, Hello Ben

disclaim: Not mine, but mine to toy with

rated: T, for language

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Dean woke strapped to the bed again. Moaning as he tried to open his eyes he thought, 'must be a migraine.' He had the worst headache this side of a hangover and could not remember how he had gotten it. When he did get his eyes opened he attempted to look around but his head was also strapped down. Memories flooded his mind, 'hospital, doctor, drugs, witch.' Groaning at his predicament he wondered what Sam was going to say, 'He is going to be pissed, I just got out of the restraints.'

"Ben, you are one troublesome patient," Paulyrd's voice floated to Dean's hearing. The doctor moved into Dean's line of sight, "If you would just relax and participate in the program we can help you, Ben."

Dean blinked to focus on the doctor's face then he registered the words, "Stoff callin' me Benth. My nan' ith Deam." The slur was not noticed by Dean, but it bothered him the venom was lacking.

"Ben, you are going to have to give up on these delusions. What was it this time? What could have possibly happened to push you over the edge?" Paulyrd sounded genuinely concerned. "Ben reopening your arm nearly left you with no motor function in your left hand, lucky for you we were able to save it. I am just glad the other wounds were not as deep, not even requiring stitches, though they will hurt for a while. As you know since you are in my program you are not allowed any pain medications, I can't have my trail tainted with any other drugs." There was a gleam in the doctor's eyes as he told this to his patient. For emphasis he pressed down on the belly wound. "Ben, do you hate yourself that much?"

Dean screamed out, "Slun a bish!" He was panting and sweating with effort to keep the pain at bay. "I don' ha' my'sef. I di'na do thith..." he hissed, he was getting very weary of this conversation.

"Ben, then who DID do this to you? You were the only one there," the doctor was exasperated, he wrote in his patient's case file. "I am uping your dosage and you are to be in restraints until further notice. I hope you are happy, I guess you want this, Ben." He noted that this patient was 25 more dosage than his other patients.

"Ya ha' ga' t' be kid'n me! Le' me ou' a he'ya!" Dean was shouting, which was doing his head no favors.

"Ben, this is another reason you are here," the doctor said injecting his drug into the IV port, "your hostility and paranoia. Because of this and the fact that you almost killed yourself again, you are to stay in here until I see fit you have calmed down enough to be with the other patients. Also, your visitor rights have been revoked, not that you had any."

"Wha' t' fu'k? Wheya's Slam? Stoff wi' doz...d-druths...s-stoff..." Dean's eyes were getting blurry again and the buzzing returned to his ears. "I n-nee t' t-tal... t' ... S-sllaa..."

"There is no Sam. No one can save you, Ben," the doctor grabbed his patient's injured jaw and hissed into his ear, "You are mine."

Dean winced and moaned in pain. Confused Paulyrd blinked, frowned, then straightened. Feeling lightheaded and a bit disoriented he wrote some more notes in the chart then left the room.

He handed the chart with the new orders to the duty nurse. She read over them, "Are you sure doctor? This seems a bit..."

The doctor cut her off, "Yes, I am sure, it is for his own good. Ben needs this." He was a perky as ever, the dark feelings he was having were shook off and he was going to group. The day was looking up.

The nurse went to the patient's room and turned off the lights. She then informed the staff that no one was to enter the room except for herself or Dr. Paulyrd for the administration of the patient's drugs or IV for the next three days. "No matter what, it is the doctor's orders."

-----------------------------------------------


	16. Fry over medium heat until done

title: What are you doing, Dean pt 16

summary: Crack the mind gently, watch it spill out, fry over medium heat

disclaim: Not mine, but mine to toy with

rated: T, for language

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Dean slumped forward in his wheelchair as far as his restraints would let him. He was trying to stretch his back to get comfortable though nothing he did helped. He ached all over, pains pounding in perfect tempo with each other.

'i just want some fuckin' aspirin.'

He was aching from the wounds, aching from a perpetual headache, aching from sitting in the same position for hours on end, aching from the drugs. Dean had tried to tell them the drugs were making sick but no one would listen. When he nearly drowned on his vomit after the third injection on the first day of his solitary confinement the orderlies had put him in the wheelchair.

'There is no Sam. No one can save you, Ben,' the doctor's words floated through Dean's head over and over, cruelly chipping away at his foundation.

'it's not true, Sam is real... tall, long hair, talks a lot...visited me... once? twice?... my brother... i think... ' He tried to swing back at the barrage of doubt, but with each passing hour and each injection it was getting harder and harder to do.

Sipping the water the nurse had set up on the tray he counted. As boredom being ever present it had given him something to do besides think, count the number of sips it took to drain the glass.

'one hundred thirty seven or was it eighty-five? maybe I should take an average, then calculate the standard deviation showing the variances in the counts respective to the amount of water per each filling. I don't think the nurse is being consistent with her measurements, I should talk to her about that. She is throwing off my graph.'

His injections came four times a day which he tried to keep up with those but he lost track.

'numbers... lots of numbers... water, charts, straws... how am i expected to get this paper done if i can't get any pencils!' Every time Dean got a dose it knocked him out of it for a bit, thinking scattered and mind wandered.

'who is emm paula? i know her... she seems really important to me... tall dude mentioned her...' It was like a bad trip and he could not get his internal clock back on track because of it.

'day or night... eyes open, eyes closed... always black... did the sun go out?'

Dean's head snapped up at the lights flickering on. He hadn't realized he had fallen asleep, everything seemed the same. Since his vision stayed blurry most of the time along with the buzzing in his ears he did not bother to focus, he was too tired. Before he would have tried to get the nurse to talk to him, but by now he knew she would not. All the same, he knew the routine. Lights, shot in IV, pick up glass, water flowing, set down glass, lights out. All done in about one minute. Twice, or was it three times, the routine was interrupted with changing his IV and checking his vitals, though he expected they were good because she continued without pause.

'not a nurse must be a ghost or a spirit, no footsteps... demon, yeah, because a ghost would haunt me or the spirit would move me... demon wants to kill me... no words, silence to get me to talk... not going to do it... have to keep the secrets'

Dean let his head drop because it was just too much effort to hold it up. A wave of nausea hit him, he tried to sip some water to stave it off, but that was not working. He could not help himself, he threw up. He dry heaved for about five minutes after then cramps hit. It was about 20 minutes later that it had eased up.

"Head feels better now Ben," he muttered as he lolled his head back to try to get some fresh air but the stench was everywhere.

'it was just water so why does it smell so bad? maybe i am rotten inside, that is why i am being punished'

He could feel the warm liquid as it soaked into his clothes, down his t-shirt and into his scrub pants. He could also hear it drip onto the floor through the buzzing in his ears. Mesmerized at the new sensation, he counted the drips.

'hey ben, fifty two drips, like a deck of cards' random thoughts drifted through his muddled brain. 'if we gathered them up we could play gin.'

"Ben, I'm going to sit here until I die," he moaned. 'i'm partly dead now... can't feel my butt, legs or arms,' he thought with a sigh, 'a blessing, angels are smiling at me.'

The burning and cramping had been hell; now there was numbness, blessed numbness. Shifting a tiny bit in the wheelchair he felt his shoulders, back and bladder ache.

'i am becoming a wheelchair... it don't hurt as much...'

Getting more and more uncomfortable, he thought, 'i need to pee. too much water. ben, stop drinking it... wheelchairs don't need water.'

He could feel his warm urine soaking into his pants, blending with vomit adding it's own aroma to the room. He laughed, starting with a chuckle, quickly erupting into a full blown belly laugh, deteriorating into hysterics, ending with a sob.

'No one can save you, Ben'

---------------------------------------------------------------------


	17. If you need immediate assistance

title: What are you doing, Dean pt 17 

summary: If you need immediate assistance

disclaim: Not mine, but mine to toy with

rated: T, for language

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Dad, it's Sam. Dean was... in an accident and is in the hospital. That would not be anything for me to be calling you about because we are always ending up in one hospital or another. Huh... Yeah, but Dad, Dean has been committed, as in looney bin committed. No he is not crazy nor has he talked he just... Well, it is all a misunderstanding and I can't... Shit Dad, they will not release Dean until he has gone through this drug trail of this doctor's that will last up to a year and there is no legal way to get Dean out. At lease none that I have found yet. He is at the Logan Memorial Hospital in Gaushawa, OR, under the name of Dean Jones. Anyway, just wanted you to know. Bye."

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Dad, remember I told you last week that Dean has been committed and in a drug program? Well things are not going well. There is no legal way to get Dean out, I have researched everything and that doctor will have to sign a form to release him. Paulyrd will not do that. That and the drugs are really fucking Dean over... he is not himself, to put it mildly. And the hospital now has no record of Dean ever being there. They will not even let me visit him. Damn it, I have to... Look, I am planning to break Dean out... Shit, the place is set up like a prison and... Wherever you are... Dad, if I don't call you by Sunday night, things did not go as planned. Well, bye."

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------


	18. You can check out anytime you like

title: What are you doing, Dean pt 18 

summary: You can check out anytime you like, but you can never leave.

disclaim: Not mine, but mine to toy with

rated: T, for language

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

On the morning of the fourth day Dr. Paulyrd went to room 1494. He told Nurse Kennedy, the duty nurse, that he was releasing the patient. When he opened the door he was hit with an unpleasant smell.

Appalled at the stench he briskly asked, "Nurse, what is going on in here?" after heflicked on the lights and saw that his patient did not move. 'he had better not be dead yet'

"Doctor, you said no contact except for his daily injections, we were following your orders," she responded hurriedly, a bit taken aback by his tone.

"Very well," he said dismissing her explanation as he approached the man in the wheelchair. He saw his patient was soaked in what appeared to be some sort of liquid. 'Vomit, sweat, and piss no doubt; pleasant,' frowning, he read the chart that he retrieved from the nurse earlier, noting that all the man's vitals were good. 'well, his body is fine, now for his mind'

Gripping the man's jaw Paulyrd lifted his head, "Ben, do you hear me?" He watched for any indication that the man was lucid.

'what is that? ... rough, burning, bruising my skin... wait, i don't have skin... why does it hurt?'

"Ben, wake up, it's time you joined the rest of the ward." He gently shook the man and saw his eyes flutter.

'sound, i hear sound? sound all wrong, not what happens... words... yes, they were words, there were no words before...'

"Ben, wake up," the doctor was more stern with his request, making it an order. That he noticed got his patient's attention, eyes opened looking in his general direction though unfocused.

'blurry... demon? dad?'

"Sl-ir?" the patient rasped out, blinking trying to focus on the shape in front of him. 'is that my voice, sounds weird... funny... hit the rewind button, let's hear that one again,' he chuckled a bit at the sound he made. "Sssll-irrr," he repeated more slowly.

The doctor frowned at the reaction but continued, "Ben, you are going to join the rest of the patients. You will cooperate with the staff. Do not cause any problems on the ward." He watched as several emotions played out on his patient's face.

'ward clever? you are here? where is june, the bev, and wally? what a putz, wally... and who calls their son, 'the beaver'? that is just wrong,' confusion flooded his mind with abstract thoughts and brief snapshots of memories.

"Ben, answer me, you will cooperate," Paulyrd ordered again when he saw that his patient was drifting.

"Cop'rr'take," the man echoed softly letting his head drop when the doctor released his jaw. 'that feels better, no touching, touching hurt... a dream... a memory... or a... what's that? looks like legs but I don't have legs... i am a wheelchair, i carry whoever that shape is talking to.'

"Nurse, get a couple of orderlies in there to take him to the showers. Clean him up, get a new chair, he is still to be in restraints. Make sure he has not gotten infected," he instructed Nurse Kennedy standing at the door, making sure to add the quality of accusation to his words. He could not have his patient die of infection, it would look bad for his program. Also, this patient was needed for something, it was important, he just could not figure that one out. It was a feeling that had him convinced that what he was doing was right.

"Have him brought to the dining hall, I will met him there in an hour." The doctor left quickly to get away from the foul smell.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------


	19. Please bring me my wife

title: What are you doing, Dean pt 19 

summary: Please bring me my wife

disclaim: Not mine, but mine to toy with

rated: T, for language

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Thomas and Fred, the orderlies that came and got the patient, happened to be two of the three who this patient had taken down during his flight earlier that week. So they were more than pleased, happy in fact, to have Ben at their mercy; a bit of payback was needed.

"Hello Ben," Thomas said with a harsh clasp on Ben's shoulder, "Time to get cleaned up."

'touching, pain... words, different... moving, i am moving... where are we going?' the man thought as he was delivered to the showers.

"Not so tough now," jeered Fred when they jerked him out of the chair and having no control over his body, Ben fell flat on his face moaning in pain. They laughed at his inability to protect himself.

'hurt! i should not hurt... i feel, i should not feel... face, back, arms, legs all hurt, pain... i have a body and it all hurts, touches hurt... noises, more sound,rough... what is that? blood, i taste blood... got to get away... '

"You stink," grunted Thomas dragging him into the shower by his feet.

"Stoff, gee' offs ne! Less me goes!" screamed Ben as he struggled but he was not strong enough to break the orderly's grip, 'no, let go... hurts... too loud, too much... get up and move, damn it ben!' The movement was disorienting and the taste of blood was scaring him.

Gasping out in shock when the ice cold spray hit him, Ben tried to get away from it but ended up flailing on the floor of the shower as the two kicked him back in. 'wrong, this is wrong... fight, don't give up on me now ben, fight them... you have skills, you have training,' the man berated himself though he could not get his body to follow his orders.

"Teach you to bust my nose," Fred said as he kicked the patient in the ribs again, he knew better than to hit a patient in the face. After the patient was soaked and shaking from cold water, the orderlies stripped him naked and scrubbed him for ten minutes until he was red and raw and screaming incoherently.

'cold, hurts, please stop... dad, it's not working, i need another incantation,' the man begged silently, huddled in the corner of the shower stall screaming out disjointed Latin phrases.

Dragging him out shivering and nearly blue, they let him fall again before they dried, dressed, and strapped him down in another wheelchair. 'safe, can't touch me here... i will blend... i will become the chair again,' the patient went limp and non responsive as he was being wheeled away.

"Well, you know how unruly he can be," Thomas chuckled to the nurse who would be redressing Ben's bandages. He ended up with a split lip from the fall and several bruised ribs from the orderlies but none of his other injuries were worse for his treatment.

"Emm, hi nee' oou ta hep me, p'ees hep. Hi saw'ry," the man whispered over and over to the nurse. 'emm i need you please, i am sorry, i won't be bad again... tell dad to come get me... mummy will be sad... emmy, i miss you.'

The nurse had pity in her eyes as she bandaged him, patted him on the hand and told him he was alright. "Who is Emm, honey?" she questioned when she recognized a name, making a note to tell the doctor about the man's speech problem.

"Ar'na oou Emm?" Ben asked and when he saw her shape shake her head no, he wept in pain at being tricked. "Emm Paul'ya ith ny withe. P'ees lek ne slee Emmy, hi mizz hurr," he begged. The nurse had the same light brown shaggy hair that he remembered, the same green eyes, but he saw that this woman could not be his Emmy because when she got up she was too short. 'emmy is tall, taller than me, talks a lot more, and always wears black.'

"I'm sorry Ben, I don't know where your wife is. But I could call Emm for you, I'm sure she misses you, too," she said with her back to the patient. She had seen the tan line on his ring finger, but it did not register that it was on the wrong hand. She took his answer as the truth. "What is Emmy's number, dear?"

Taken aback by the helpfulness of this nurse Ben rattled off two of numbers he could think of, "eigth sic sic nie oh seb'n free too free fy, thack hurr nummer, orf ith, sic fy oh seb'n too free oh fo'yr fy too, thack coo be hurr nummer... buth do'na cauff hurr Emmy, slee hay'z thack," he added remembering the hated nickname only he occationally got away with. He watched as the nurse wrote down the numbers then he drifted off thinking, he knew another number but he hesitated to give it. When he saw the nurse turn around, dread gripped him.

"Na moe druths, p'ees. Druths nake ne sith," he shook trying to back up from the needle the nurse was preparing to inject into him.

"Ben, you know you have to have this, doctor's orders," she said softly to try to calm the patient, then injected the drugs into his IV port. She watched as the man's eyes went from frightened and wild to dull and unfocused in a matter of minutes then his head dropped to his chest.

"Naken me sith, heath hurths, nee' ass'prim..." he mumbled, his voice drifting off, though his mind was racing, 'stop, got to make them stop, have to get off the drugs... emm told me to, if i do i can get out of here...'

-----------------------------------------------------------------------


	20. One of these is not like the others

title: What are you doing, Dean pt 20 

summary: One of these is not like the others

disclaim: Not mine, but mine to toy with

rated: T, for language

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"But doctor, you can plainly see that this patient is not responding to the treatment like the others," a senior colleague spoke to Dr. Paulyrd. Dr. Mason was reviewing the charts, videos, and ratings of patients in the drug trail. Mason was clearly concerned about patient number 6.

"Dr. Mason, you have to remember that patient number 6, Ben, has not been in my program for very long and is behind the other five patients. He is following the same steps as all the others and is where he should be at this point in his treatment," Paulyrd was on the defensive but still kept a positive spin. He did not like his work questioned, barely tolerating the reviews established for this trail. 'you will not screw with me old man.'

"Doctor, number 6 is experiencing blurred vision, impaired hearing, slurred speech, and reduced motor control. Also, his blood work does not seem indicate that the drug is working properly. You can see here that his dopamine levels are -" Dr. Mason was explaining before he was cut off.

Impatient, Dr. Paulyrd interrupted, "The man has a speech impediment that was evident when he arrived in my care. As for the vision and hearing, that should clear up in a few days. And his lack of motor control is due to the fact that he tried to commit suicide twice in a week and had to be operated on twice. I have adjusted his drug levels in accordance to my guidelines in order to get the best results. As you know these things take time and I have had to go through this with all my patients. Ben has only been in my care for about two weeks now and usually it takes about three to four to get to the correct dosage. I am taking care to review each patient's stats and adjust accordingly. Each patient is different, but I have to say Ben is the most challenging."

Not to be swayed easily, Dr. Mason brought up another fact, "Ben also has been complaining of a headache and nausea. These have been reported from day one." He looked pointedly at Paulyrd.

Looking at his colleague with both concern and arrogance, Paulyrd continued, "Dr. Mason, as I have said, I am in constant awareness of the health of my patients and how each one is reacting to the program. All of the patients at one time or another has complained of headaches, nausea, and other body aches to varying degrees, some worse than others. All have been documented, addressed, and taken care of, as is the case with Ben. Though I have to say his claims might be questionable because the man is stubborn and is fighting the program. But I find that once we have worked through the program, with the group sessions and the individual sessions, we will see that most of Ben's complaints have been in his head." Paulyrd chuckled at his pun slapping Mason on the shoulder making the other physician join in.

Flashing his perfect white teeth he elaborated, "I foresee a turnaround in Ben in the next few days. I am going to be extra careful with all that I do concerning this patient because he is exactly the type of person that I think will benefit the most from my program. I want this to be a real groundbreaking treatment in the field of the criminally insane to bring them around, back into society. And because Ben is being difficult it will be to my advantage to meet this challenge head on and I welcome it. I am not to say what will happen for I cannot foresee the future, but I can say that he is the reason I developed this program and if he fails then I fail. And I do not want to fail, I do not want to loose another person to the horrors of their own mind. It is our responsibility to help all that we can, and if I can reach Ben then I can reach the hundreds of others who are suffering like him." His mind was a buzz with all of the propaganda he was feeding the other doctor. He was reveling in the fact that he believed every word. Paulyrd practically radiated certainty and confidence.

Swayed though not totally convinced Dr. Mason conceded the fact that Paulyrd did care for the well-being of his patients and was sure that he could make this work. As a precaution, Dr. Mason concluded, "Well, I must admit you do have a strong trail going here. I know that it will be some time before all of the ramifications are known, but I see that you are following your guidelines as you have noted and that you have indeed incorporated the suggestions from your latest review. As your senior advisor, I will note this discussion and your willingness to adjust your program as needed."

"Indeed Dr. Mason, indeed," Dr. Paulyrd shook the older man's hand, "I will file an adjustment within the week detailing everything." He smiled and left feeling like a million bucks. 'Tomorrow, I will really dig in,' he thought, 'I am not going to be bested by a worthless suicide, he will be mine.' Humming he went to the dining room to meet with his paitent.

-------------------------------------------------------------------


	21. Come and Get It! It's Dinner Time!

title: What are you doing, Dean pt 21 

summary: Come and Get it! It's Dinner Time!

disclaim: Not mine, but mine to toy with

rated: T, for language

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Here he is doc," Thomas said as he pushed the patient up to the table where Dr. Paulyrd sat then handed him the update papers from the nurse. The update noted is vitals, the status of his injuries, and what medications were given.

"He was a bit of a handful but he has calmed down now," Fred explained when the doctor frowned at his patient's split lip and listless demeanor.

"Very well, leave us," Dr. Paulyrd said dismissing the orderlies. Reading over the papers he noted that the cuts to his jaw and abdomen were almost healed; scabbed over and would most likely leave no scars. His left wrist was healing nicely, the stitches could come out in a couple of days. 'No infection, good. Ah, he was given his second injection, no wonder his is out of it. Weak, pathetic little man,' he thought, slipping the update into Ben's case file, he then turned to his patient. "Now Ben, I want you understand that you are to join the rest of the ward and cooperate with the drug trial. I will not have you disrupting the program," Paulyrd was stern.

'cooperate... trial, am i bad? must be guilty... program, i want to watch scooby doo,' Ben's mind tried to focus on the doctor's words but kept getting jumbled, the drugs were fully in his system now muddling everything. He lifted his head to look at the fuzzy shape of the man sitting across from him. The movement made him dizzy, the lights were too bright making his head hurt worse along with the constant buzzing in his ears. Ben blinked to relieve his dry eyes, clear his vision, and settle his stomach though he knew it was futile. 'can't see... everything is smeared.'

"Ben, listen to me!" Paulyrd snapped at his patient. A spark flashed in his eyes at the flinch he caused the man. Smiling he waved another orderly over to the table.

"Yay'us sl'ur," Ben replied to the command, it was ingrained in him to obey orders. 'hurt to talk, throat dry, mouth hurts,' he licked his lips to moisten them but his pasty tongue did little to relieve the dryness and he tasted the dried blood from his split lip. Ben swallowed to keep the bile from coming up from his churning stomach, he was going to be sick again. 'i need a drink of water.'

"Ben, this is Peter. He will be feeding you while you are in the restraints. Be good and cooperate with Peter," the doctor ordered, he felt the sudden urge to order electroshock therapy for his dazed patient. 'Later,' he promised himself.

"Cop'rr'tate wiff Pee'r," Ben echoed staring blearily at the doctor. He flinched at the huge white form standing next to the shape of the doctor. 'no! ... wait, one... looks different,' he tried to focus on the orderly, 'red hair, glasses... not the other two,' he involuntarily shivered at the memory of the shower.

Placing his hand on the orderly's shoulder when he stood, Paulyrd instructed, "Make sure he eats all of his meal and drinks plenty of liquids, I want him off of the IV by this afternoon. As you heard, Ben has a speech impediment so it can be difficult at times to understand him. Make him enunciate and do not guess what he is trying to say. Remember, Ben can be quite stubborn, so use a firm hand."

Dr. Paulyrd tried to act nonchalant as he snatched back his hand. An electric charge snapped from him to the orderly causing him to react suddenly. Shaking his hand and clearing his throat, he dismissed the dizziness he felt as getting up too fast from the table. The bad mood he was in all morning seem to lift, "Bring him to my office when you are finished."

"Yes, doctor," Peter replied jerking his shoulder at the shock the doctor caused with his touch. 'Must be too much static electricity in here today,' he thought, shivering slightly at the sudden chill that raced down his spine. Placing the tray on the table he took a seat on the patient's right. His mood went from pleasant to dark in two seconds flat. 'Now I have to deal with this,' he thought distastefully looking at the patient to his left. A bit taken aback at his thoughts, Peter tried to get back into a better frame of mind. Speaking with a forced cheerfulness Peter addressed the patient, "Alright now, time for dinner."

Ben slowly moved his head so that he was facing the orderly sitting beside him. 'dinner time? what about breakfast? or second breakfast? eleven-sies? lunch? tea? don't much care for tea, like coffee myself, black with the occasional sugar. but emmy liked her coffee from those fruity coffee shops with all those syrups and shit.' Abruptly brought back to the dining room from his foray into his mind, Ben tried to pull back from the hand gripping his shoulder but the restraints stopped him.

"Hurths, lay goes damff ik, ik hurths," Ben protested, his skin was sensitive from the drugs and the rough shower.

The orderly released the man when he got his attention and continued, "Ben, you have to eat. We have meatloaf, creamed corn, peas, and apple sauce with milk and water. Now open up and do as the doctor ordered," Peter was losing what little patience he had, all cheerfullness gone.

Peter was an even tempered orderly, careful of his charges, and caring for the patients he served. He loved his job, helping others who could not help themselves. However, this man he openly disliked on sight and wanted to punish for making him serve him. 'You will pay for what you did,' the thought raced through Peter's mind so fast he was not sure where it came from.

"Na hun'ry, thur'see. Nee' va'ser an' ass'prim, ny heath hurths," Ben protested as the spoon was raised to his mouth, he turned his head away to distance himself from the offensive food. 'i hate corn, especially creamed corn. why take a something bad and make it worse. though creamed spinach would be worse. yuck. and what is meatloaf? all that stuff lumped together... mystery meat... mummy, i want something different.'

"I don't care, you are going to eat every last bite if I have to break your jaw and cram it down your throat," Peter growled, surprized at his words but grabbed Ben by the chin turning his face back, nonetheless. Smiling at the fear in Ben's poorly focusing eyes, he ordered, "Open up," then levered Ben's jaw open with his fingers and shoved a spoonful of creamed corn into his unwilling mouth. Seeing Ben try to spit it out, the orderly clamped his right hand over Ben's mouth while he held his jaw closed with his left. "Oh no you don't. Swallow it," Peter ordered and let out a mean laugh at the patient's pathetic struggles. For some unknown reason this brought him pleasure where it should have shamed him.

'no like corn... shit!' Ben's eyes went wide and wild, thrashing in his wheelchair. 'stop, you can't do this... this is wrong... can't breathe!' When he saw black creep around the edges of his vision, he swallowed. Once released he gulped in precious air. Adrenalin and fear stopped the buzzing in his ears and focused his sight enough to see an evil glint in the orderly's eyes, sparking a memory in Ben's muddled mind. 'cuts, pain, blood, fire... emmy running...' His train of thought was derailed by meatloaf being forced into his mouth, the spoon cracking against his teeth. Swallowing to avoid suffocation, Ben begged, "Stoff ik, nakin' me sith," with tears rolling down his face. His head was pounding in perfect rhythm with his racing heartbeats. His chest aching in an attempt to get more air, his bruised ribs protesting the movements.

"And I said, I don't care," Peter shoved another spoonful of food into Ben, pleased to see that his spilt lip was bleeding again. He was holding onto Ben's jaw so hard he was leaving bruises, but he could not let this pathetic excuse for a human being get the better of him. Each protest was answered by Peter forcing food roughly into Ben's mouth with little regard for teeth, gums, or tongue.

Fifteen minutes later Ben was cooperating well enough that the orderly did not have to hold his chin any more nor hold his mouth shut. 'i eat, i be good, me no like it but i eat it... mummy, i sorry i was bad, i eat my dinner... mouth hurts.' His tears stayed in his eyes as he ate the food. Ben could taste blood with every spoonful which was not helping his upset stomach. He tried his best to eat what was being fed to him, attempting to stop the pain, wanting to get away.

"Hi fool, na mow'r. Hi gunna ve sith," Ben begged then accepted the spoonful of apple sauce, swallowing it dutifully even though his stomach felt full.

"The doctor said all of it and that is what you are going to do. Open," Peter reminded the patient. He want this to be over with, he hated to be with this patient, ugly feelings kept washing over him.

After 30 minutes half the meal was gone, Ben wanted to obey but try as he might he could not hold it down; head pounding, stomach churning, he threw it back up. 'told you i was sick daddy... why won't you listen to me? but my head feels a bit better,' he thought with a sigh.

"You little piece of shit. Look what you did," Peter was staring at the vomit on the tray, the table, and the patient's shirt. "Well, you know what this means? We've got to start all over again." Peter scooped most of the foul smelling slop into the tray. "Open," he ordered.

Ben responded to the order but then shut his mouth and shook his head horrified when he saw what the orderly meant. 'no! that's worse than creamed spinach! can't eat that... don't make me...daddy, please no!' Until the orderly slapped him hard across the face causing his head to whip back. No one else was in the room so there were no witnesses, except for the video surveillance if anyone cared to look.

Peter was tired of this, Ben was prolonging on purpose, "See what you get for not cooperating? Now, we are going to sit here for as long as it takes for you to finish this meal." Grabbing Ben's jaw again, he shoved a spoonful of the awful mess into his bloody mouth, clamped it shut, forcing him to swallow again.

Ben sputtered when released, wanting to get that awful taste out of his mouth, shaking in fear. 'don't hurt me daddy.'

"I don't care how many times you throw it up, you are going to eat it over and over again until you keep it down," Peter hissed, slapped Ben again, and continued. This time he did not let go.

A hour later Peter was wiped out yet pleased with his results. Dispite the fact that Ben threw up at the halfway mark again, all the food and vomit were now gone, the milk and water were drank as well. 'Third time's a charm,' Peter thought enjoying Ben crying from the pain and whimpering to be left alone.

"Do'na hurr ne na mow'r, day'dee, p'ees. Hi ve gooth," he whispered, his mind pleading, 'i'm sorry daddy, i be good... i eat mummy's dinner... no more, please.' Ben's lip was still bleeding, his jaw was bruised with the hand print of the orderly, and his right cheek was red from the slaps he received, light bruises forming. Two of his teeth were chipped, his gums were cut up and bleeding from the abuse of the spoon, and his tongue was swollen from the two different times he bit it when Peter clamped his mouth shut. Ben's head still hurt and his stomach still churned but he dare not throw up, he did not want to eat that meal again. So he concentrated on keeping it down, the milk and water helped a little but all he wanted to do was get away from the mean man.

"Hi ve gooth, hi ve gooth," Ben sobbed, cringing away from the orderlies who changed his soiled clothes and flinching from the nurse who cleaned and tended to his wounds.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------


	22. Please Hang up and Dial again

title: What are you doing, Dean pt 22 

summary: If you have received this message in error, please hang up and dial again

disclaim: Not mine, but mine to toy with

rated: T, for language

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

In the hotel room a few blocks from the hospital Sam had the luxury of ignoring his lunch while he worked on his breakout plans for Dean. He had been doing recon at the hospital posing as a delivery man. He found that no one paid attention to him and he could go almost anywhere he wanted. During his 'deliveries' Sam was privy to files, computers, charts; you name it, Sam got it.

First, the patient list for Dr. Paulyrd was procured then the case files for each patient. In that list he found the best match for Dean was a patient named 'Ben.' He matched in description and cause for commitment. Sam struck gold when he found Dean's personal items stored under Ben's name in the second floor storage area. 'Dean is going to want his necklace and ring back when he gets out.' Sam carefully wrapped the items and put them in Dean's duffle.

Second were badges and access codes for the stairwells and elevators. The psych ward was set up with scanners to keep people from accidentally accessing the floor, the patients from wandering out, and since the hospital also housed minor criminals under psychiatric evaluation, security was tighter than most psych wards. Armed with these, a clip board, and a set of scrubs, Sam could come and go as he pleased.

Third, Sam wanted to get a hold of the security tapes since Dean was committed. He wanted to see if there was a routine his brother was on that coensided with his charts so that Sam could find the best time to execute his plan. He had not had an opportunity to get to this piece yet, but he was hoping to get them today. With the tapes and a pattern for treatments, Sam would be ready tomorrow night, hopefully.

Sam had the hospital floor plans on the hotel table carefully mapping out the three best routes to get to Dean's room on the 14th floor and out again. He knew better than to have just one escape planned. Sam was writing notes in his note book when he nearly jumped out of his skin. Dean's cell phone was ringing. Not recognizing the number Sam hesitated just a moment before he answering his brother's phone.

"Hello?" he spoke tentatively hoping it was his dad. Sam had left the second message this morning.

"Hello, may I speak to Emm Paulia?" a female voice filled Sam's ear.

"I'm sorry but you have the wrong number," Sam said absently, disappointed. He was not listening to what the woman said after he heard it was not his dad. He did not have time to waste.

"Oh, sorry to take up your time," she said then ended the call.

Sam dropped the phone on the bed and picked up where he had left off. He had just picked up his pencil when his cell rang. He frowned at the number, it looked familiar but he could not place it. He needed it to be his dad, he needed help.

"Hello?" Sam answered hopefully.

"Hello, I am Nurse Summers at Logan Memorial Hospital and I am calling on behalf of Ben. I need to speak Emm Paulia," the same voice from Dean's cell, she was more sure of herself this time.

"Ma'am, I'm sorry, I don't know who gave you these numbers but there is no Emily Paul here," he was only half listening when he heard the woman's voice again. 'That is why the number looked familiar,' Sam was getting ready to end the call when the woman spoke again.

"Not Emily Paul, Emm Paulia. Her husband is at Logan Memorial and wants her to know that he is sorry and needs her help," she was more forceful in her quest, almost rushing her words.

Sam stopped and focused on the names the nurse gave. 'Logan Memorial... Emm Paulia -- wait a minute, Impala, Dean! He's found a way to contact me,' his hopes soared. His thoughts raced at the possibilities and asked, "Nurse Summers, could I talk to Ben?"

"He is having lunch now so you can't... I really need to get in touch with Emm," she floundered not knowing what to do.

"I'm sorry but Emmy is my sister, she married Ben Paula. Ben is my brother-in-law, what happened to him?" he put all of his sincerity into his voice willing the nurse to believe him.

"You are not his next of kin, not that we have any listed. But it would be his wife if that were the case, anyway. So, I do not think that I can..." Nurse Summers explained but was faultering at the sound of Sam's voice.

"I will call my sister, I have to let her know the good news. I will have her call you," Sam said with just enough relief in his voice to convince the nurse.

"Oh yes, yes. I will be right here," Nurse Summers said and hung up.

Sam sat thinking about the information he had learned. 'This could alter my plans, I have to get more information. I might get this nurse to help me.' He stared at the phone for another minute before he dialing the nurse.

"Logan Memorial Hospital, Nurse Summers speaking. How may I help you?" the nurse answered on the second ring.

"Hello, Nurse Summers, this is Joshua First, Ben's brother-in-law. I spoke to Emmy, well our mother anyway. Emm is with our mother here in Seattle recovering from two broken legs, a broken arm, and a crushed larynx. She was in car accident about two weeks ago, but she is doing fine," Sam let relief color his words. "She said Ben had been moody and depressed for the past six months and he left her about a month ago. I let her know about what happened and she is upset but overjoyed that he is okay. Emm wants to go down there but is under doctor's orders to stay put, plus she cannot speak until she heals. Our mother told me that Emmy wants to tell you that she misses Ben and wants to see him as soon as possible. Is there any way that I could see him? I could be there in about six hours," Sam did a quick calculation in his head for the distance and driving time.

"Well, you are not his immediate family, I don't think that will be allowed," she trailed off thinking, she seemed really willing to help.

Sam came up with an idea to at least let Dean in on his plan, "I would hate to have driven all the way down there to be refused. But what if my sister was to send a letter for Ben? I am sure it will do Ben a world of good to hear something from Emmy," Sam had an idea of how to get to see Dean, "and I know of several courier services."

"That is not an unusual request. Yes, that would be fine," she gave him Ben's room number on the psych ward. "Joshua?"

"Yes?" Sam after a quick moment, remembering the name he had given.

"Ben told me not to call her Emmy. She hates that," she said quietly.

"Yeah, you are right," Sam chuckled at statement, 'Dean, I got it, and I knew you did, too.' Sam smiled and finished, "Emm does hate that nickname, but sometimes I just cannot resist ribbing my little sister. Thank you so much," Sam said with all the gratitude he felt. He was finally catching a break on this. Now to compose a letter so that Dean would understand as his plan. Sam had a delivery to make.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------


	23. Take 2 asprin and call me in the morning

title: What are you doing, Dean pt 23 

summary: Sessions

disclaim: Not mine, but mine to toy with

rated: T, for language

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

Dr. Paulyrd was infuriated with the condition his patient arrived in, battered and bruised, muttering and flinching at every sound.

"What the hell happened?" he demanded of Peter, shaking his hands ineffectually at his patient not knowing what to do. He wanted to shake his fists at the brute of an orderly.

"He was being difficult and refusing to follow orders. You told me to use a firm hand and I did. I made him eat his meal, just like you wanted," Peter was having none of this, he did as he was told.

"I said a firm hand, not a fist! I will not have you abusing patients," the doctor turned to face the orderly. "I will have you up on charges. Now get out of my office this instant!" Paulyrd grabbed Peter by the arm and forced him out. Pulling his hand back he shook off the stinging sensation racing up his arm and down his back. Blinking his burning eyes rapidly and shaking his head to clear his thoughts the doctor stood still then addressed the stumbling orderly.

"Be back at seven to retrieve him for supper," his tone was calm, his face neutral, "Ben will be in his room."

Peter turned back to the doctor righting himself with the aid of the secretary's desk. He was disoriented and could not remember what he was doing here. 'Dining room with Dr. Paulyrd, fed Ben, brought him to the doctor's office, return at 7:00,' his thoughts strung together like a grocery list but the details were lost.

"Um, yes doctor," replied Peter frowning. He straightened his glasses and dismissed his dizziness and disorientation as a side effect of his allergy medication, nodding to the doctor he left rubbing his tingling arm.

Paulyrd sat at his desk and stared at the man, his mind racing. Feelings warred with each other, compassion and hatred, fighting for dominance. Strange thoughts drifted in his mind, nestling themselves into his psyche. 'That worked out better than I thought, I am getting stronger,' the doctor frowned then straightened his paperwork that had gotten skewed when the patient was brought in. 'I have always been strong and I know what is right and what is wrong. My program will become the success I know it is,' Paulyrd rationalized his thoughts with the realization that he was one of the top psychiactic doctors in the state, if not the country. The problem was proving what was his God given right to use his treatments and drugs how he saw fit.

'This is working, I have shown many successes so far. Just this one holdout,' the doctor's face creased into deeper lines of contempt. 'What a patheic little man, so easily broken, almost not worth the effort. But he is the reason I have to continue, to prove what I know is the only program to cure these... these... throw away people. If he is not cured then my trial will be set back to day one.' Paulyrd had years of reseach and development into his program of treatments that he did not want to be viewed as wasted. 'I have to use more drastic measures. This bastard is not ruining my work because he is too damn lazy. I cannot have him pissing all over my life, time to lay down the law and get is ass on the right track,' with that the doctor smiled his arrogant smile, knowing all was right in his world. Returning to his patient, he picked up a large book and slammed it down on the desk.

BANG!

Jerking his head up, Ben let out a strangled cry then pleaded.

"Na mow'r, p'ees Day'dee," he trailed off looking at his surroundings and the doctor, finally realizing he was no longer in the dining room.

"Good, you're paying attention," purred the doctor, his smile was as brilliant as ever, though not as empty as it once was. Flipping through Ben's file he asked, "How was dinner? Was it tasty?" his eyes flashing with malevolent joy.

Ben's vision had cleared as had his hearing, enough that he saw the dark quality in that smile and the flash in the doctor's eyes. Shaking, Ben's stomach did a churn at the memory of lunch. 'can't throw it up... can't... don't want to eat it again,' he nearly gagged at the thought. Nervously he licked his lips with his swollen tongue tasting blood in his mouth.

"Ik wus fi'," he answered the doctor in what he hoped was a steady voice but his fear was rolling off of his body in waves. His mind was racing at what he was observing of the doctor. Memories tried to force themselves to the surface. 'fire, witch, burn... i need to get out of here, doctor bad... emmy, where --' his thoughts were stopped by the doctor moving. Fearful of more pain, Ben stared at Paulyrd.

'Foul smelling glop being forced into an unwilling mouth over and over again.' The thought swam around the doctor's mind filling him with a since of triumph and revulsion. Paulyrd frowned at himself but schooled his features for his patient. Getting up, he approached Ben.

"Now Ben, if you want to get out of those restraints there are some simple rules you have to follow. I cannot have you being disagreeable," the doctor had moved to stand above the man. Grabbing a handful of hair he forced Ben's head up and back. "You will do as you are told. You will comply with all requests. You will not complain. You will not talk back." Paulyrd released his hold and crossed his arms.

"Repeat what I have told you," the doctor commanded.

Trembling, Ben tried to remember what the doctor had just said, "R-rools. Do has t-toll. C-com'fly wiff d'ques's. Na c-con'flains. Na t-talf bath," he heard himself stutter the words though he tried for a brave front, he just was too scared. He hurt all over and it would not stop. 'emmy, where are you? this is wrong but i can't stop it!'

"That is another thing," Dr. Paulyrd said as he walked back to his chair and sat down. "I can't understand half of what you are saying and I bet you are doing it on purpose. You will be put into a speech therapy session three times a week starting tomorrow. Plus, you will be in a more advanced treatment program to get you up to speed with the rest of the group. You have fallen behind because of your antics."

'what is he talking about? i talk fine, just a bit of slurring because my mouth hurts,' Ben's mind raced with the implications of what the doctor had just said. 'group? what group? i don't remember any group... just mummy and daddy and emmy... they are my group.'

---------------------------------------------------------------------------


End file.
